The Wolf and the Keeper
by MUSHROOMS
Summary: Hahaha! Self-inserted character! Laff... A few years after the destruction of the One Ring, two very odd Hobbits return to Hobbiton in the Shire, and run into (quite literally) Merry and Pippin. But whoever heard of Hobbits with Elvish names?...
1. Prologue

Author's Note: This is a Prologue, with a capital "P". The point of it is to confuse you all. I hope *smile sweetly* that it achieves its purpose. Meanwhile, until I get feedback from more people, I will have to assume that you all are dead, and I can take over the world. Bubye now.  
  
Disclaimer: Let's make a list: Tolkien's characters-cool and kick-butt. My characters-not widely known and not much good at anything at all. Now, do you understand why Tolkien had more money than I do?  
  
***  
  
It is over.  
  
The Fellowship is broken. Middle-earth is saved.  
  
Now, Hithwen... things can go back... to the way they were.  
  
You can go to Mirkwood, and I can go to the Shire. The land will stay healed, if we can help it.  
  
Shelob is dead. Sauron is dead. The Witch-King is dead...  
  
But...  
  
Theoden is dead. Denethor is dead.  
  
The lives of mortals are not long...  
  
But in the meantime...  
  
Mirkwood calls to you. Legolas calls to you.  
  
And Pippin...  
  
Perhaps I will find myself. Perhaps I will discover who I am. Perhaps a new story will begin.  
  
~~Excerpt from a letter to Hithwen of Lorien from Draugwen Elf-friend of Fangorn, nine days after the One Ring was destroyed  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: Alright, who's the wise guy/girl who says I'm Hithwen?  
  
*crickets*  
  
Fine then, don't admit it. But I'm NOT Hithwen! Go look at my bio, for goodness' sakes! Hithwen is not ME.  
  
Gosh, no one ever pays any attention to the stuff I say anymore. I said Legolas kicked butt, not that I'm actually attracted to him or nuthin'! Yeesh. 


	2. Let the Fireworks Commence!

Disclaimer: Hey, everybody! Please, let me remind you of just a few things . . . The exits are *point* here, here, here, here, here, and here, and none of this is mine, except for unfamiliar characters (e.g., Draugwen, Gwathwen, etc.) and unfamiliar plot lines (e.g., this one). The rest belongs to the great and blessed Tolkien—or, in one extremely embarrassing case (read to discover), New Line Cinema. *whimper* I'm /sowwy/, Mommy . . .  
  
A/N: Yo, beauteous children! Not much to say now . . . just read, review, and, while you're at it, read my other stories! And join my OFU! Please! ***Just as a footnote, thanks to evilgenius92389 and Miste, as well as the little people who live in their heads—Miss Eville and Miss Tae, respectively. *sob* You're wonderful people!  
  
***  
  
Let the Fireworks Commence!  
  
The sun rose high above the Shire.  
  
The mill-wheel turned slowly, creaking softly and adding the music of the spilling water to the singing of the newly-awoken birds. The hobbit-holes, doors open to let in the breeze, were clean and tidy as always, children playing in the front yards, mothers shouting orders to their children to help with cleaning. The trees swayed slightly, bending just enough to be noticeable, but not so much that the hobbits resting underneath them lost their shade.  
  
It was the fourth year after the Scouring of the Shire. The scars of the land had healed and everything was beginning to look normal again.  
  
Gandalf opened his eyes and smiled. He stared up at the clouds floating past, shaping themselves at will. Breathing in deeply the scent of grass and wool blanket, he thought, /Sleeping outside works wonders on the sinuses./ He paused and inhaled again; but then he paused for a moment.  
  
/Wait . . . it's quiet . . . too—/  
  
"BANZAI!"  
  
"Oof!"  
  
/Well, at least the sinuses benefit when Sam's offspring aren't around./  
  
"Get off!" he complained. "You're breaking a poor old man's bones..."  
  
"It's Frodo's fifty-fifth, Gandalf!" Goldilocks shrieked excitedly. "Don't you have fireworks?"  
  
He sighed. /What a thing . . . an Istari being ambushed by small, annoying Halflinglets . . ./  
  
She stared imploringly at him, using her infamous weapons of shining brown eyes and curly, Sam-hair-colored hair. It had worked on many lesser than the Wizard, but it would not fail on him either. He squirmed . . . and Goldilocks' siblings stared at her in glee and wonder. The same thought was in each of their minds: /It's working again!/  
  
Meanwhile, Gandalf was thinking in a muddle, /I shouldn't let them have any fi/—he twitched—/I shouldn't be too hard on them; they're so adorable . . ./  
  
He smiled. "Of course I have fireworks, Goldilocks. In fact, if you'd like me to, I'll design one just for you little ones. Then I'll give it to you, and perhaps help you set it off!"  
  
The little hobbits grinned and opened their mouths.  
  
The sound was deafening.  
  
"Make it purple!"  
  
"No, green!"  
  
"Silver!"  
  
"Make it shaped like a tree!"  
  
"No, a fountain!"  
  
"A house!"  
  
"Make it really loud!"  
  
"LOUD!"  
  
"With mushrooms!"  
  
"Lots!"  
  
"And very heavy rocks!"  
  
"That'll fall on little children's heads! Good idea!"  
  
"Yes, children, mushrooms and ro—MERRY!" Gandalf suddenly roared. "PIPPIN! Get out!"  
  
"Who's Merry?" asked an innocent-looking, very large young hobbit. "My name's Ferry."  
  
"Get out . . ."  
  
"Fine, fine, get angry with us for wantin' a bit of fun," grumbled the other over-large child, shaking his tousled head. "Last time you wouldn't let us into any fireworks either."  
  
"And can you tell me /why/ I didn't? Children?"  
  
"Because," the young hobbits chorused, "Merry and Pippin with fireworks is like Isildur with jewelry chopped off someone's hand."  
  
"Precisely. And also because when you /did/ get your hands on the fireworks, you nearly blew the whole Shire to smithereens."  
  
"And got washing duty for /days/," grumbled Merry. "How many times did we set off Gandalf's fireworks, Pippin? Once a year for twenty-two years, that's . . ." He thought.  
  
"Twenty-two," Pippin said dreamily. "Ahh, fireworks . . ."  
  
"Be off!" Gandalf cried, silently mourning his lost explosives. "Or there'll be /no/ fireworks at all!"  
  
Suddenly, many small hobbits were giving Merry and Pippin the evil eye.  
  
"Go," hissed Goldilocks, as ominously as she could. "Go /now/."  
  
Merry and Pippin backed up very slowly.  
  
Then they ran.  
  
"Gee, Merry!" Pippin gasped as they ran. "Sam's brood can be nasty, can't they?"  
  
"'Course they can, Pip," Merry panted, "as there's so many of them. They /outnumber/ us, Pip. Our Sam's been," he grinned mischievously, "/busy/."  
  
"Hmm? How so?" Pippin stopped by a young ash tree and looked at Merry questioningly. "You mean with gathering in the crops, and gardening for Mr. Frodo and such?"  
  
"/No/, Pippin," Merry groaned. "With /Rosie/." At Pippin's still-blank look, he sighed and said, "You know, /producing/."  
  
"Ohhh . . ." The light dawned. Pippin started running again, thinking to himself. Then he said, "You know, that wasn't very nice, Merry. A bit inappropriate, too. What would Sam say if he could hear you?"  
  
"Well—"Merry said hotly, a bit embarrassed that Pippin was berating him. He stuttered for a moment, then said, "Well—well, it was funny, so—so, I don't know! Sam's not here, so I suppose it doesn't matter, does it?"  
  
Pippin rolled his eyes and dropped the subject. They ran in silence for a few moments. Then he asked Merry, looking straight ahead, "Have you been worried about Mr. Frodo lately?"  
  
Merry's face went from red to taut and strained. "Of course I have, Pippin," he said quietly. "Everyone has."  
  
Pippin was silent. The hobbits both looked at the ground as they ran.  
  
Consequently, they ran smack into the obstacles standing on the road before them.  
  
"Ow!" Pippin yelped. He fell down, after impacting with something very, /very/ hard. He looked up blearily.  
  
There were two hobbit-maidens on the road before them. One was normal hobbit-size, but one was quite tall—even a bit taller than Merry and Pippin, though just by a centimeter. The tall one was auburn-haired and fair-skinned; the other was fair-haired and deeply tanned, and wore a thin elf-mail shirt and small sword over her tattered traveling-cloak. The tall one, in contrast, wore a thick, stiff-looking cloak, tunic and pants, sable and green, with guards of the same material but darker color on her elbows, shoulders, knees and chest.  
  
/That's why my head hurts/, Pippin thought, rubbing his ears to get circulation back. /I ran into that armor . . . erm . . . stuff./  
  
The girls looked to be fairly close in age, the taller one slightly the younger. They were, by hobbit standards, rather impressive, both in stature (even the shorter one was quite tall for a normal hobbit) and appearance (the ragged look was not common in Hobbiton).  
  
Merry and Pippin were certainly impressed.  
  
"You know, that was an awfully crude joke, Mr. Brandybuck," said the fair one reproachfully.  
  
"Who are you?" asked Merry, slightly astonished.  
  
"Draugwen," said the tall one.  
  
"Gwathwen," said the fair one.  
  
"We're Bolgers," they completed together.  
  
"Bolgers?" Merry startled. /Bolger . . . Estella! Estella Bolger! My wife . . ./  
  
"Ah, yes," said the fair one, blushing slightly, "Estella was our cousin, Meriadoc. Most unfortunate, that boating accident."  
  
/Wait . . . how did she know—/ but his thoughts were interrupted suddenly.  
  
"Well, Merry ought to have known that most Bolgers don't swim!" said the tall one hotly. "/Others/," she continued dreamily, "would've /known/ better." Here she gazed hungrily at Pippin.  
  
"Draugwen! How rude!" cried the fair one, glancing worriedly at Merry as he looked around at Pippin, slightly dazed. "I am appalled."  
  
"Oh, you're just upset because Merry's not as—"  
  
"Um! Isn't Draugwen an Elvish name?" Pippin interjected hurriedly, blushing deeply. /Please, please, /please/ don't finish that sentence. I do not want to know./  
  
"Yes, it /is/, Pippin!" The tall one turned and began staring at Pippin's feet again.  
  
"But we're Bolgers." This was the fair one.  
  
"Yes, we know," Merry said. This was getting old. /He/ wanted some attention now!  
  
/Later, Merry, later./ A voice in his head! How odd. /More attention later. There are plans. Right now, it would be most appreciated if you could hush./ It was a forceful, beautiful voice.  
  
/Okay,/ he said meekly. For the moment he disregarded the fact that he was talking to a voice in his head and that another hobbit had just read his mind.  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Pippin stared at his toes; the tall hobbit also stared at Pippin's toes; Merry looked everywhere except at the hobbit who had known what he was thinking; and she, in her turn, simply stared off at the closest hobbit holes, furrowing her brow slightly.  
  
Suddenly, the tall hobbit stood up very straight and sniffed the air. "Pippin!" she shrieked after a moment. "It's mushrooms!" She dashed off in an easterly direction.  
  
Pippin, ignoring for the moment his confusion, ran off after her. Mushrooms trump all.  
  
***  
  
He found her in a clearing, stuffing her face. "Move over!" he cried, and started eating voraciously.  
  
After a while, Pippin realized that the other hobbit was no longer eating, but instead staring at him (again). He paused, looked at her, and sat up straight.  
  
"What is it?" he wondered aloud.  
  
"/You/," was the reply.  
  
Pippin was startled. "Me?!" Then he understood.  
  
/Oh. Ohhh . . . Yes. All right./  
  
No one in the history of everything had ever done it this obviously.  
  
/She's certainly not subtle./  
  
Pippin realized something else, as he looked around the clearing, his eyes finally coming to rest on the now-slightly-pink face of the other hobbit.  
  
/I don't especially mind it . . ./  
  
"Pippin?"  
  
"Hmm?" She was asking him something. He shook himself, and paid attention.  
  
"It's Frodo's birthday, right?" she asked, with a gleeful, mischievous gleam in her eyes.  
  
"Right . . ."  
  
She grinned. "What say we go steal some fireworks?"  
  
Pippin stared, then grinned back. Without a word, he yanked up as many mushrooms as he could and handed half to the girl, then ran off in the direction of Gandalf's cart.  
  
***  
  
"Get the big one!" whispered Draugwen fiercely. "No, not that one, Pippin! The other—no—yes! Yes! That one! Come on, then." She yanked him around a corner into a small tent.  
  
"Ouch!" Pippin winced. /She's got more of a grip than I'd expect!/ "Did you, by any chance, ever partake of Entdraught?" he asked, once she'd let go of his shoulder and he'd commenced rubbing it to recover feeling.  
  
"Ha!" she hissed victoriously, punching the air and making him jump. "I always told Gwathwen that you were quick on the uptake. Yes, in large quantities," she told Pippin. "Now light it, quick!"  
  
"Listen—I've done this before," Pippin said hesitantly, "and I don't think—"  
  
"Just light it, Took!" she growled dangerously. Pippin, needless to say, did what he was told, lighting it with a smooth, much-practiced sweep.  
  
There was a bright flash of light and a very loud bang, and they both blacked out.  
  
***  
  
The first sensation Pippin felt was pain. The next sensation was . . . more pain.  
  
"Peregrin Took, and an unknown hobbit. I'd never have guessed!" Gandalf exclaimed, dragging them along by their ears.  
  
"Ow!" Draugwen writhed in pain, spitting and screaming at Gandalf. Pippin just let himself be dragged in a sitting position, occasionally wincing as he was dragged over a bump. He was used to this by now. "Come /on/, Pippin!" Draugwen screamed. "Do something! Fight! Kick! Scream!"  
  
"Oh! Are we acquainted, then?" Gandalf asked the two hobbits. "And what might your name be, madam?" he directed at Draugwen.  
  
"Draugwen. I'm a Bolger," she said stoutly. "And," she added, glaring evilly, "I don't hold with wizards who disappear when they're needed and pretend to die." She stuck her tongue out at Gandalf, ignoring Pippin's vigorous head-shakings and mouthed pleadings.  
  
Gandalf raised one very bushy eyebrow, but said nothing to her. To Pippin he said, "Whatever happened to Merry, then? Isn't he the sort of fiend to be your accomplice?"  
  
"I don't know," Pippin said, shrugging. "There was another Bolger—her sister—"(here he gestured at Draugwen) "—and I'd expect he's somewhere off with her."  
  
Suddenly Draugwen laughed. It was a somewhat maniacal laugh. Pippin and Gandalf both looked at her, startled.  
  
"What's so funny, then, Draugwen?" Pippin asked, puzzled. Then he had a thought. "Oh—is it the producing thing?" He frowned. "Why is Merry being produced?"  
  
Draugwen frowned too, but her frown was deeper and darker than Pippin's frown. "For your information, Peregrin Took," she stated coldly, "we Bolgers, or at least the children of /my/ parents, do not hold with crude jokes! And Merry is /not/," she shuddered, "being /produced/."  
  
"I was just—"Pippin stammered, mortified (and confused (again)).  
  
"Silence!" Gandalf shouted, shaking his head and concealing a smile (those simple Shire-folk!). "You shan't be laughing much longer in any case, Hobbits; there are hundreds of dishes to be washed, you know!" And with a sweep of his arm, he opened the flap of a smallish tent, revealing the most disgusting kitchen space ever seen (which shall not be described here, unless, of course, you /like/ old, cold, rotting food, swarms of cockroaches, and small colonies of bacteria). "In you go!" the wizard chuckled, and prodded them with one large, magical finger.  
  
Draugwen looked, then concealed a smile of her own. "No, Gandalf," she said smugly. "I don't think we will." She nodded at the tent and at Gandalf, turned away from the dishes (which were suddenly clean and driving the bacteria in a line out of the tent, whipping them with little riding crops and slashing at them with tiny china daggers), and added, "You know, Gandalf, I oughtn't think we Shire-folk are simple, if I was you. The walls of your mind have ears." She took Pippin's hand, wriggling slightly with pleasure, and they both disappeared without any sort of flash or noise.  
  
Gandalf nodded. "I'm satisfied," he said quietly, smiling a little.  
  
***  
  
They reappeared in Frodo's entrance hallway. Pippin was sweating a bit.  
  
"Thank goodness!" he panted. "For a moment there, I thought it was the Ring again!" He breathed deeply. Then he looked down at his hand. Draugwen's own was still clasping it tightly. "Umm . . ." He tried to pull his hand free, but couldn't. /This is why hobbits shouldn't drink Entdraught!/ "Do you suppose, Draugwen," he asked, "that you could let go my hand for a bit?"  
  
Draugwen just coughed and stared at the ceiling. She looked very well pleased with herself.  
  
"Draugwen!" came a sudden shout. They both jumped.  
  
"Frodo!" Draugwen exclaimed delightedly, and ran to give him a slap on the back (almost knocking him out in the process). "Sorry we're late! Fireworks, you know!" She winked.  
  
"Yes, I do know, lady," he said, smiling and winking back. "But Pippin!" he cried to Pippin, who was looking rather dejected and out of the loop, "come in, join the party! Sam's here, and Rosie, and the little ones—which reminds me, I ought to be watching them—"he shrugged, earning a look of disapproval from Draugwen "—and Merry and Gwath are in there as well, which is convenient, as you and Merry probably want to trade war stories . . ." He winked again. "I'll be off, then!" He trooped back into the other room, and was immediately attacked by the Gamgee brood.  
  
Draugwen raced off to mingle, and Pippin, feeling quite shell-shocked, went and found Merry.  
  
Merry was sitting in the darkest corner of Frodo's best dining room, smoking a pipe with a slightly glazed look on his face. The room was actually quite cozy, with a low ceiling and a candelabrum in each corner, and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was very clean; there were no spiders in the vertices of the walls. /Of course, there wouldn't be/, Pippin thought, /not after what Frodo's been through./ The tables had been pushed into one corner to make room for the guests to dance or stand around talking. There weren't many guests; just the Gamgees, Merry, Gandalf (his head was sticking through the window, and he was staring intently at Merry, while at the same time trying to hide from the children, which was quite frankly impossible), Folco Boffin, Fredegar "Fatty" Bolger, and, inevitably, Gwathwen.  
  
The first thing Pippin asked was, "Did Frodo wink at you?"  
  
Merry made a face. "Only about seventy times! I did wish he would stop. And there he goes again!" Frodo winked at them from across the room. "It's so annoying."  
  
"Isn't it, though?" Sam said glumly, appearing at Pippin's elbow. "He was always on me about Rosie, and the winkin'! He says, if he'd not been there, Rosie an' I'd still be single. Thinks he knows everythin' about everythin' about women," he muttered gloomily. "Well, seein' as how he's still got no wife . . ." Sam sat down, grumbling and nursing the tankard of beer he cradled carefully in his arms. 


	3. The Ballad of Gwath and Merry

Disclaimer: Hey, if I was Tolkien and owned all of his... um... stuff...  
then I would be a) rich and b) a lot smarter than I am. So there.  
  
A/N: Hey! It took me forever to upload this, and I really didn't  
change anything! But okay! Please don't kill me, anyone!  
  
2. The Ballad of Gwath and Merry  
  
Merry pored over the day as he swished around the last remains of his ale, staring into it as if hoping to find a few answers to his queries.  
  
/Let's see . . . so far, I've criticized a wizard, made nasty jokes about Sam, run very fast into steel armor, and . . ./  
  
He sighed.  
  
/And then there was the afternoon./  
  
***  
  
Pippin and Draugwen had raced off after the mushrooms, leaving Merry to wonder exactly what was going on with that strange hobbit-girl, and how precisely this odd mind-reading other one was still here. Alone. With him. On the road. With no one but them . . .  
  
Gwathwen sat down in the road suddenly; even though she /knew/ what was going on, it still confused her.  
  
"My sister," she said neutrally to Merry, "is mad." She laughed when Merry looked at her, startled. "Not just in general, mind you," she explained. "She's mad about your cousin. It's like a disease." Then she murmured, under her breath, "A somewhat contagious one . . ."  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing . . ."  
  
Merry stared for a moment at her. /You know, I've never seen any Bolger as strange as these two. But they don't seem dangerous—in fact, rather nice, in their own way—what I've seen of them in the past two minutes, in any case./ "Well, I suppose she's all right," he said. "I believe you, though."  
  
They sat in silence for a while. Then Gwathwen asked shyly, "Merry . . . what was your favorite place? On the journey to Gondor, I mean."  
  
"My favorite place?" /That's an odd question./ "Well," he said hesitantly, "I suppose that would have to be . . . Fangorn Forest, I guess. Yes, with old Treebeard!" He smiled fondly at the memory. "It was beautiful there. It's only too bad I wasn't there at a more peaceful time."  
  
Gwathwen smiled too. "How would you like to go back?"  
  
"Huh?" Merry's jaw dropped. "To . . . to Fangorn? How—"  
  
"Just don't let go of my hand!" Clasping Merry's fingers as tightly as she could, she pulled out a small, diamond-shaped mirror on the end of a chain around her neck. She traced the engraved Elvish G-rune on the back, then turned it over and whispered, "Fangorn Forest!" into the mirror. The glass fogged up, then cleared to show, not her own face, but the inside of a strange forest, with a somewhat confused-looking Ent staring back at Merry. "Close your eyes!" Gwathwen whispered quickly, then closed her own and poked Merry's shut, as he was still staring at the Ent in the mirror.  
  
They both disappeared, as suddenly as if they had blinked . . .  
  
***  
  
And appeared in another place when they opened their eyes.  
  
"Wh . . . where are we?" Merry whispered. He knew, of course, but he didn't believe himself, nor what his head was telling him.  
  
"Halflings!" boomed the Ent. "It's Merry, back again! We thought we'd seen the last of you!" He picked Merry up and examined him.  
  
"Welcome back to Fangorn, Merry," Gwathwen said happily, smiling up at the other hobbit, dangling more than twenty feet above the ground.  
  
"/You/ did this?" Merry asked with no little astonishment. "Why – How – Is this really Treebeard?" He cocked his head amazedly at everything around him.  
  
"Yes, I did this, Merry," said Gwathwen. "Why? Well, I thought you'd enjoy it. How? Well, to be frank and slightly cliché, that's for me to know and you to find out. Is this really Treebeard? Yes, if you want to call him that. You could also call him Fangorn or that rather tall fellow over there who doesn't really want to be called a tree /at all/. Now, Merry, would you be so kind as to transfer yourself to Quickbeam for a bit while I have a meeting with the Ents?"  
  
"Do I have a choice?" Merry asked, slightly overwhelmed.  
  
"No, probably not." Gwathwen smiled. "Treebeard, would you /please/ turn him right-side-up again?"  
  
"Oops. Sorry," said Treebeard, and then tossed Merry up in the air and caught him the right way up. "Better?"  
  
"Yes, but don't throw him any more," Gwathwen said, pitying Merry, who was looking rather nauseous. "Treebeard, hand him over to Quickbeam and then follow me, would you? I'll be back soon!" And she ran off in her bare feet to the circle of Ents, which Merry hadn't noticed before, in the clearing nearby.  
  
"Hello!" said Merry to Quickbeam, who was suddenly holding him.  
  
"Hello," said Quickbeam.  
  
Merry watched Treebeard stroll off, his strides nearly as long as Bag End's partially-uncharted main hall. Then he looked at Quickbeam quizzically. "Do /you/ know what's going on?" he said.  
  
"Yes," boomed the Ent, "but Gwathwen has instructed me not to tell you. She says you'll know soon enough."  
  
"I hate suspense," Merry grumbled.  
  
"Did you known you've grown a bit since I last saw you?" inquired Quickbeam.  
  
"Yes," Merry said dryly. "I'm the second tallest hobbit in the Shire, Quickbeam . . . actually, if you want to be picky, the second tallest hobbit in history. But then, who's counting?" He said this with a disgruntled sort of pride.  
  
"Ah, then the Entdraught did you good!" Quickbeam smiled. "Would you like more? I would be able to get you some quite quickly—"  
  
"No, thank you!" Merry said quickly, shaking his head. "It's bad enough towering over everybody's head without towering any taller than I already do!"  
  
"Suit yourself," Quickbeam said; "although it's odd to me that you would not want to grow tall and spread your branches to reach the sun!"  
  
"Quickbeam?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I don't have branches."  
  
***  
  
They stayed in Fangorn Forest for a while after Gwathwen had completed her meeting with the other Ents, walking with Treebeard and Quickbeam and climbing on rocks by a small, shallow pool. Merry and Treebeard showed Gwathwen Treebeard's cliff, and the Entmoot; they showed her the way the Ents had traveled to Orthanc five years ago, and sang the song for her that had led Treebeard and the Ents into their battle.  
  
Mostly, though, they just sat in the sun, Merry smoking his pipe, Gwathwen watching the sky and the trees, and Treebeard watching them both. (Ents, while slow, are not by any means stupid.) It was peaceful, and Gwathwen was quite happy; she had always wanted to come back to Fangorn for a while. She would need to come back again, later, when she had more time. She had a fairly good idea of what would happen next. She glanced sideways at Merry.  
  
The other hobbit looked troubled, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. He blew a large smoke ring and watched it float up above the trees and then northwest, towards the Shire.  
  
"Merry?"  
  
He started. It was Gwathwen.  
  
"Are you all right, Merry?"  
  
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine!" Merry exhaled forcefully. /What am I doing, making her worry? She's done me a good turn!/  
  
"Merry, something's wrong. What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing!" he snapped.  
  
Gwathwen looked shattered. "I'm sorry, Merry," she muttered, looking at her feet. "I had to come to Fangorn, and I thought you'd want . . ." She trailed off.  
  
/Now look what you've done!/ "No, Gwathwen, I'm glad I'm here!" he assured her. "It's just that . . . I mean, I'm enjoying this, I really am, but I want to know why we're here; I have this sense, this irrepressible feeling, that something's wrong, but no one will tell me what it is."  
  
"Oh, so /that's/ it! Merry, I keep /telling/ you," Gwathwen said with a bit of exasperation, "you'll know soon enough, all right? When we get back to the Shire, we'll gather together Frodo and Sam, and Pippin and the rest. Then we'll tell you."  
  
"Well, when are we going back?" Merry asked impatiently.  
  
"Whenever you want to go back, Merry." Gwathwen smiled. "We came here because /you/ wanted to, remember?"  
  
"And you had something to do here."  
  
"Well, yes, there was that, too," Gwathwen conceded. "But there was definitely a large 'you' reasoning in there somewhere."  
  
"Can't we go now, then?"  
  
"Are you sure?" Gwathwen frowned. "Didn't you want to see Treebeard, and all the other Ents?"  
  
"Yes, but . . ." He sighed. "Can we come back soon?"  
  
"Yes, we could do that."  
  
"Then I want to go. Something's very wrong, and I want to help with it. I /need/ to help with it, otherwise I won't trust myself again."  
  
Gwathwen sighed, and suppressed a smile. "Very well, then. Take my hand." She pulled out the mirror again, traced the rune, and took them back to the Shire.  
  
***  
  
They reappeared in Frodo's front hall.  
  
"Frodo?" Gwathwen called down the hall.  
  
"You know Frodo?" Merry was baffled. "Who else do you know?"  
  
"Quiet, Merry. I'll tell you later."  
  
Just then, Frodo came running down the hallway. "Gwathwen! And Merry! How /are/ you two?" Then he looked down and started chuckling. "I suppose I know where /you've/ been!"  
  
They both looked down. Their hands were still clasped tightly from the journey, and they were standing very close together, and sweating from walking in Fangorn.  
  
"Aah!"  
  
They sprang apart like they were on fire.  
  
"Frodo!" scolded Gwathwen, blushing. "You're being crude!"  
  
"Sorry, sorry," he said, winking. "It's just, what with everything you've told me about—"  
  
"/Shut up/!" Gwathwen hissed, looking nervously at Merry, who was just standing there, looking lost.  
  
"Well, anyway," Frodo continued, ignoring the seething looks of hatred and confusion directed at him, "you're just in time for the party! Come on in! I decided not to have a big party this year," he continued as he led them into one of Bag End's many dining rooms, "as Sam's little ones are, well, little, and they might get scared of all the people. Gandalf's a bit disappointed, as are the others, truth be told, because he can't do his fireworks this year. But what can I say? They might frighten the little ones."  
  
Merry stared at Frodo. "Are we talking about the same Gamgees?" he asked. "Because the ones who I'm thinking of love people and would do anything to get to go to one of your big birthday parties. They've also, incidentally, been looking forward to Gandalf's fireworks for who knows how long, and, if I remember correctly, ambushed him, this morning, in fact!"  
  
"I told you no one would buy it, Frodo," said Gwathwen (whose blush had not yet faded completely). "Nobody's /that/ stupid."  
  
Frodo sighed. "Of course, it's hardly likely. Well, Merry, I'll tell you: Once, many years ago, my cousin Bilbo said this of the presence of the Ring: It made him feel stretched, like 'butter over too much bread'. I, unlike Bilbo, am dealing with the absence of the Ring. I do not feel any great stretch; but I feel a great need, like Smeagol did; and I do not know how to counteract that need. I do not know how to get rid of the need; but it hinders my days, and it must be blotted out in some way. I did not feel that it was appropriate, nor that I would be able to handle it, if I had a full-out birthday party this year."  
  
Merry stood in silence for a moment. Then he said, "Well, /finally/ someone's /telling/ me what's going /on/! /Thank/ you, Frodo. Okay. We can go from here."  
  
Frodo stared at him, slightly astonished at his outburst; then he laughed, and winked again. "Well, Merry, has our Gwath been keeping things from you? I'll assure you, she's keeping more than just the current situation from you—"  
  
"Crude!" Gwathwen shouted, blushing again. "You're being crude, Frodo!"  
  
"How is that crude?" Merry asked, puzzled and annoyed. "What are you keeping from me? Gwathwen!"  
  
"Nothing. Pay no mind to Frodo, he's feeling a bit ill," Gwathwen muttered angrily, glaring with narrowed eyes at the master of Bag End. She looked about ready to spit either fire, acid, boiling oil, or all of the above.  
  
"You may as well wait in the party room until Pippin and Draugwen have come," Frodo said, and winked (/again/). "They've taken even longer than you have. I wonder if—"  
  
Suddenly Gwathwen grabbed him by his shirt-collar and began shaking him quite vigorously. "Do /not/—," she snarled through gritted teeth as she shook him, "/ever/—insinuate—that my—sister—is—impure! You—will—pay—next time!" With that, she put him down and dusted off her hands. "Come on, Merry. Let's go visit Sam and Rosie," she said calmly, leading him into the next room. He looked over his shoulder and watched poor Frodo gurgle and twitch on the floor.  
  
/Alas for the hobbit that makes crude jokes in front of Gwathwen Bolger/, he said to himself, quite intimidated.  
  
***  
  
"Gwathwen! We're here!" shrieked Draugwen at the top of her voice.  
  
"Yes, Draugwen, I can hear that," Gwathwen growled. She banged on the side of her head to make sure she hadn't gone deaf. "Merry?"  
  
"Hmm?" Merry looked up from his reminiscing.  
  
"Bring that ale over here, would you? And if you're going to get food, get it now. Oh, and get some pipeweed as well, would you? You and Pippin are owed some explanations."  
  
"Yes! Finally!" Merry grabbed the basket of mushrooms from Sam's hands ("Hey! Get your own shrooms! Those are mine! Mr. Merry, I'm warning you . . .") and plopped down next to Gwathwen.  
  
"Sam, why don't you come too? And Frodo, and the rest of you," Gwathwen said, and beckoned. "It's for all of you to hear." 


	4. Explanations

Disclaimer: Losers that have no life are probably not Professor J. R. R.  
Tolkien. They are probably losers that have no life. I am a loser that  
has no life. Therefore, I am not Professor J. R. R. Tolkien. Therefore, I  
really didn't steal Professor J. R. R. Tolkien's stuff, seeing as how  
this is a /fanfiction/ site... *glares menacingly at evil band of kung-fu-  
poisonous-serpent-stuffed-down-t-shirt lawyers*  
  
A/N: Well, it took me long enough... Hope you enjoy, because otherwise you  
may have to...  
Miss Tae: Take crochet lessons with me!  
Audience: *gasp* Nooooo! Anything but that!  
Miss Tae: *pouts* That's not nice... *smacks Audience*  
Audience: Ow! What'd I do? It was in the script!  
Me: I think I've had too much sugar today... oh well. Love all of you, and,  
as ever, please read and review!  
  
A few notes to my reviewers of olde... in backwards order!...:  
aihjah: You read both! Aww, how sweet! *pat on head*  
greenleaf-in-bloom: You might understand it better now that I've updated  
four chapters...  
TheRabidHOBBITFangirls: Pippin is MINE. *hiss* But you amuse me, so  
that's all right...  
Miste: Hello!  
Kristen: Hello!  
EvilGenius92389: Hello!  
MUSHROOMS: What? Why am /I/ there?  
Miste: Hello again! Isn't that the review I got all pod at you about?  
ShireElf: Hello there! You reviewed me a long time ago and I never  
thanked you... *ashamed*. But I'm thanking you now, so... thank you!  
Miste: Hello once more!  
Miste: Geez, what is this?!  
i-h8-sclub: Of course Merry and Pippin rock! What, are there people that  
think that Merry and Pippin... *gasp* DON'T rock?! What infidels!  
  
Me: That's it, I believe. I love all of you! Now... let the games begin!  
Isilwen: *whispers*  
Me: Okay, fine then. Let the games /continue/. But it doesn't sound as  
good.  
  
***  
  
Explanations  
  
They all gathered around the small table in the corner. Frodo pulled up a few extra chairs to the table.  
  
Gandalf surveyed the scene. The dining room was full with hobbits; the Gamgees, Folco Boffin, Fredegar "Fatty" Bolger, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Draugwen, Gwathwen. Gandalf watched as Gwathwen composed herself with grim determination. /The secrets are about to come out/, he said to himself, and worried.  
  
Gwathwen breathed in slowly. "Gandalf?" she said at last. "Would you assist, please?"  
  
"Gladly," he replied; and before anyone could enquire, he spread a white cloth that he had concealed under his cloak on the dining-room table.  
  
"Thank you." Gwathwen breathed in again, and took off her chain, placing it carefully in the center of the cloth, mirror-side down. She carefully traced the rune on the back once more, saying, "/Nil eledh, ono tenn hin dûr annun!/ Lover of the elves, give unto these the dark tale!"  
  
Suddenly, the cloth began to shine and tremble, as if something within it was stirring and waking; and a bright light shot out from it, and bored into the ceiling of the room, and blinded all the hobbits for a moment. They dove to the floor; the only ones still standing were Gandalf, Frodo, Draugwen, and Gwathwen. Draugwen had tears in her eyes, though, and Frodo looked stern and shrunken; Gandalf was watching them both. Gwathwen was watching only the column of light shining from the wizard's cloth.  
  
As the hobbits that had dived for cover recovered their dignity and sat slowly down again, Gwathwen seemed to go into a sort of trance; she watched the column fade into darkness, until it seemed completely gone; and then she watched the darkness, like ink on the white cloth, shape itself into shadowy forms, small and sad. Then suddenly the cloth was divided into two: a great forest and a beautiful Elvish house, fading into each other, and overlapping.  
  
"It is time at last." All present were startled by Gwathwen's sudden voice. She was still staring, seemingly hypnotized, at the figures on the cloth; but now she spoke to the hobbits and the wizard, and her voice seemed louder, and deeper, and more powerful than it had been before.  
  
"It is time at last," she continued, "to say whence we have come, and why, and how; but we must intermingle the answers, as we must intermingle the questions. They are connected; but I will start with how—at least for the beginning.  
  
"We are the children of Donnamira Goodbody, of Bree, and Nick Bolger. We had, as far as we can recall, good lives there, and our parents were loving and kind; but evil befell our family, and our parents were taken sick when we were but a few years old. They died. We were then shunned by our neighbors, thought to carry a danger or curse; for our parents had been perfectly healthy, never sick a day in their lives, until we came.  
  
"Driven out of the Shire, we went as far and as fast as we could on our young feet, until we got to Rivendell. It took us several weeks, I remember now, weeks of scrounging for food and water. But hark! At the cloth of Gandalf!"  
  
The cloth was showing two small figures stumbling near the elvish house, and collapsing; it showed them being taken into the Last Homely House by the servants of Elrond; and it showed their healing.  
  
"I knew that I had remembered that house," said Merry quietly. "It is Rivendell, truly enough; it is where we ended up with Strider, and where we left from to take the Ring . . ." He fell silent. Sam and Pippin stared in wonder at the House of Elrond; but Frodo did not look at all surprised.  
  
"I had healed from my journey," Gwathwen continued, "but my sister—Draugwen was ailing in her mind. She ached for home, and she ached for those we had thought were our friends; but they had betrayed us, and it had shattered her heart. You must remember that we were only a few years old; we did not remember much of what had happened. Draugwen did not even remember who had hurt her, but she remembered the feeling of darkened hopes and betrayal, and she remembered the flight from the Shire. We did not even remember our own names. The elves gave us names of their own kind, Draugwen and Gwathwen; Draugwen for my sister, who fought whenever her healers came near and tried to help her—she fought tooth and nail, screaming and snarling; so they called her the Wolf-Maiden. I was called Gwathwen; I sat on the bed next to my sister and would not open my eyes. I would not speak. I would not get up. I would only sit and cry on that bed, in the darkest corner of the room, for many days—so they called me the Shadow-Maiden.  
  
"The elves did what they could, but soon they realized that there was not much more to be done for Draugwen that was within their power. Elrond then decided to send her to the least likely place any of the Eldar would have imagined: he sent her to Fangorn.  
  
"We do not remember much of my sister's departure; Draugwen, in fact, remembers nothing, except that someone she loved very much was crying and wailing as she was taken away. That person was me. I was still so very ill, but when I realized they were taking my sister—my only ally, I felt, in this whole strange place—I ran out of my bed, screaming, and out of the safe house of Rivendell, and down the road. There the elves apprehended me; but still I screamed, long and loud, crying, 'Draugwen! Don't leave me! Fight them!'  
  
"But Draugwen was sent with her guard to Fangorn, and I remained in Rivendell; I certainly could not go back to Stock, the home village of my father. Gradually, I regained parts of my memory; but as the years passed, and I remembered more, I knew that I had to find my sister and bring her back to me; and then we had to find somewhere, away from the elves, to stay for good."  
  
Draugwen swayed slightly, unnoticed by all but Pippin and Gandalf. Her face was gray, and her eyes were only half-open.  
  
"Draugwen was taken to Fangorn, and there she was met by Treebeard and Quickbeam. They took her into the deepest regions of the forest; and then and there Quickbeam was instructed to care for her until she could care for herself. He took her to one of his homes, and made it his only home, and cared for her as if she was his own Enting. He was as a father to her, just the way Lord Elrond and his court were as parents to me; but one thing he could not fathom was the way the wolves came to her. You did not often see wild creatures in Fangorn; they preferred to keep themselves quiet and away from the Ents and rogue trees; but the wolves came to my sister as if she were their own. The packs fought over her, and she did not like it; she was but five years old, but she didn't approve, and she cried. Quickbeam says that the wolves looked at each other, embarrassed, and then there was an unspoken agreement: that they should become one pack, rather than see my sister cry. They all came over to her, and licked her, and nuzzled her, and warmed her with their bodies; and Quickbeam says that she stopped her crying and smiled, one of the first smiles she'd ever smiled in Fangorn, and there was a collective sigh, from the pack and from Quickbeam himself.  
  
"So there was peace in the forest, between the Ents and the wolves, and Quickbeam's adoptive Enting grew and flourished and became almost an Ent herself. But one day, she wandered, far away from Quickbeam—so far away, in fact, that she ran out of Fangorn Forest itself! She was frightened, and she was lost, and vague memories were stirring up dust in her mind, memories of another run, many years ago . . .  
  
"But then, before she could begin to walk the paths of true terror, a party of Elves found her. They stared at her in wonder, then spoke to each other in Elvish. She could not understand it then, but what they were saying was, /A Hobbit on the plains between Fangorn Forest and Lothlorien? How can this be? We must take her to the White Lady./  
  
"But the White Lady already knew of my sister; she had conferenced with Elrond on the matter of the two Hobbits, and he had convinced her that Fangorn Forest was the only way to heal my sister. The White Lady invited Draugwen to stay in Lothlorien for a few days, until she could get her back to Fangorn.  
  
"There was a guard in Lorien, by the name of Haldir; he had two brothers, Rumil and Orophin, and one sister. The sister's name was Hithwen."  
  
There was a sudden intake of breath around the room.  
  
"/Hithwen?/" said Sam incredulously. "You mean Legolas's—"  
  
"Yes. That is Hithwen." Gwathwen traced an Elvish H-rune, then an L-rune, in the air. It shone for a moment, then sank slowly into Gandalf's cloth.  
  
The vision on the cloth changed; now it was a new forest, the Elvish Lothlorien, and within it were two figures, far too tall to be hobbits, standing close together and watching something. They turned to look at each other, then simultaneously turned and shot two arrows towards the red bullseye on the target of a dead maple tree. The arrows both hit the mark dead-on. Peals of laughter echoed through Frodo's dining hall.  
  
"This was, of course, many years later, and we do not meddle in things that are not our business," said Gwathwen, smiling a little and sounding a bit more like herself.  
  
Draugwen swayed again. This time, Gwathwen noticed. /Get on with it!/ she hissed to herself.  
  
"We are not concerned, at the moment, with what happened two years ago, when two fates intermingled," she continued; "we are concerned with what happened seventeen years ago, when Draugwen was only fifteen.  
  
"What happened," she pushed on, "was that my sister found Hithwen—or Hithwen found her. Whichever it was, they became friends very quickly. Hithwen showed Draugwen the paths of Lothlorien and the White Lady's city. Hithwen took Draugwen to the different flets, taught her some Elvish, and introduced her to her brothers. Hithwen took Draugwen on guard patrol, around the borders of the city. But, most importantly, /Hithwen taught my sister to fight/—with bow and arrow, with sword, with slingshot, with knife, with axe, and with her hands . . . Hithwen is the fighter of Lothlorien, and she was in those days as well. No one could have shown my sister more.  
  
"Never in her life has Draugwen learned any lessons more important than those. She knows it now, and she knew it then, too. She was very grateful, but Hithwen would not accept thanks. She wanted friendship, and Draugwen gave it gladly."  
  
Gwathwen sighed heavily. "So it was that these two became like sisters, close enough to jest and fight together. Would that I could have been there . . . but I was off in Rivendell, growing in my own way and learning in my own way.  
  
"What my sister and I have never understood is why the Lady Galadriel did not tell Draugwen about her past—or, for that matter, why neither Treebeard nor Quickbeam did either. They've never answered us straight.  
  
"In any case, Hithwen continued to teach Draugwen, and even after the hobbit had gone back to Fangorn, she returned for visits every so often, and a shaky peace was kept between the two forests. Hithwen taught Draugwen about life outside Fangorn, about the Elves, about the Dwarves, and about Men. She taught Draugwen also, what she could, about other hobbits. There wasn't much that she could teach, however, because there was not much that she knew herself; but whatever she did know, she passed on.  
  
"So my sister was taught her life lessons, not by an Ent or by a Hobbit, but by a young, fiery Elf who wanted many things, but nothing more than a war for peace.  
  
"Then she got it.  
  
"The War of the Rings began when my sister was twenty-eight years old. The Ents did not know anything of it; the only reason my sister knew of the troubles was because of Hithwen's fury. Hithwen was absolutely adamant to her mother about one thing, and that was that she would go to the Council of Elrond and put in her part in the war. Her mother, however, was too frightened that her only daughter would die in war, the same way her husband had died. She forbade Hithwen to go. Hithwen was angry, for months and months, and got her vengeance by listening at keyholes and learning all she could from the Lady of the Wood, and by telling everything she knew to Draugwen.  
  
"My sister was fascinated with Hithwen's tales of the deeds of Frodo and the Fellowship. She wanted to help destroy Mordor with them—and why shouldn't she? She and Hithwen were both perfectly qualified—but it was forbidden, by Hithwen's mother and by the Ents, who did not want to know anything about the war and gently chided that Draugwen was being 'too hasty'."  
  
"I wasn't," whispered Draugwen, gray-faced and nearly crying. "I /wasn't/."  
  
"She wasn't," continued Gwathwen, looking with concern at her sister. "She knew nearly all that could be known about the War—almost as much as the Lady Galadriel herself. But, especially after the breaking of the Fellowship and the death of Boromir, son of Denethor, neither she nor Hithwen was permitted.  
  
"Then, one day, two young hobbits, one not even thirty, entered Fangorn Forest."  
  
Pippin and Merry looked at each other mutely. Then each pointed to himself.  
  
"Yes." Gwathwen smiled. "You." In the air, she traced the year of the end of the War and the Entmoot: 3019. Then she traced the names of Merry, Pippin, Treebeard, and Quickbeam.  
  
"What in the Shire...?" Pippin gasped.  
  
***  
  
A/N: Hello, lovely people! Sorry to leave you hanging like that – I know, I know, I'm no good at cliffhangers – but I'm about fed up with this chapter... four is a much better number than three, don't you think? So I'm going to start a new chapter and get this one out to the masses. Enjoy. Or else. I worked really hard on this, children... *menace* 


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